A swish of a black cloak
In an alleyway one brisk night
Two daggers in a wall

One guard down without a fight

Up down left right
Quietly quietly now
Past the drunk mage
With a bottle of rum in one hand

Past the guards and their swords
Two knifes in their back
One door awaits him now
He easily cracks

His hand caresses the coins
"Who goes there?" shouts the King
"I am Bramlea" she whispers
And departs.